


Above the Water

by longnoideatime



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6942706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longnoideatime/pseuds/longnoideatime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>M to be Safe. Interactions based on the Cullen Romance Option mod by Cmessaz, available at Nexus. A struggling Surana in the mage tower who returns and helps a struggling Cullen. Shit at descriptions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Above the Water

Celene held very still, unsure if the pounding in her head meant she was safe, that she'd survived, or if it meant she'd been banished to some form of purgatory for failing her Harrowing. Her stomach rumbled angrily and she decided she wouldn't be hungry if she was in hell, and took the leap, opening her eyes cautiously. The familiar sight of her apprentice's dorm greeted her, and she realized the smell alone should've warned her she was home. Cold, slightly damp, old stone was the scent most of the circle mages lived with their whole lives, and you mostly stopped noticing it until you'd been for a walk on the grounds, or someone'd had perfume smuggled in.

A hovering figure finally caught her attention, but Celene couldn't bring herself to sit up quite yet. 

"Are you alright?" Jowan asked, sounding more anxious than usual. "Say something, please!"

"Jowan?" she said, sitting up and finding it made her head pound worse to do so.

"I'm glad you're alright," Jowan said, his anxiety not sounding particularly alleviated. "They carried you in this morning, I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night."

Celene tried to smile reassuringly. Jowan was her closest friend, but it was more that she wasn't very close with anyone else than that she and Jowan had a special kinship. Still, she knew she'd feel awful if he had been gone for a day and she hadn't noticed his absence.

"I've heard about apprentices who never come back from Harrowings," he continued. "Is it really that dangerous? What was it like?"

"It was a test of ability--" Celene said, shrugging her shoulders and hoping her nonchalance would calm her friend. "That's all."

"There must be something more or they would tell the apprentices what's involved," Jowan said, his tone dangerously close to pleading, or begging. "I know I'm not supposed to know... but we're friends. Just a little hint, and I'll stop asking, I promise!"

Celene suppressed an external sigh, but didn't quite quash the internal one. Only Jowan would see fit to pressure her to talk about the Harrowing, when he knew it was forbidden, under the pretense of friendship. Then again, it would be nice for him to stop asking. Maybe it was the headache, or the Harrowing, but Celene's patience was stretched thin. Still, tolerance and kindness and patience were things she tried to maintain, even though sometimes on the inside she would've preferred a rude comment. She was unsure if that made her efforts more heroic or less.

"Patience-- You'll go through it soon enough," she said, one of her watchwords accidentally slipping through.

"And now you get to move to the nice mage's quarters upstairs. I'm stuck here and I don't know when they'll call me for my Harrowing," Jowan said, crossing his arms and turning away. She didn't catch if he stomped his foot too, but it wouldn't have been any more childish.

"They'll summon you to the test when you're ready," she said sympathetically, feeling her sandpapery throat croak for water. What happened to the apprentices whose Harrowings took more than a day?

"I've been here longer than you have..." Jowan said pensively, and a mental picture of a slightly older than her, gangly little boy popped into Celene's head. "Sometimes I think they just don't want to test me."

Her fingers twitched unintentionally beneath the skirts of her robes. Lately she'd been hearing rumours about Jowan... They didn't say anything good. But rumours couldn't be enough to make First Enchanter Irving stop Jowan's Harrowing, could they?

"What are you talking about?" she said, the lie sliding smoothly and gracefully from her lips, even though it left behind a sour feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with her growling hungriness.

"The Tranquil never go through a Harrowing," Jowan said. Celene winced minutely. She had some slightly heretical and entirely nonsensical superstitions about putting voice to things that you didn't want to happen, and sometimes even had trouble thinking bad things, but Jowan didn't appear to have her problems, spewing out awful scenarios like they were nothing. "You do the Harrowing, the Rite of Tranquility... or you die. That's what happens." 

Cullen's face, unguarded for the briefest of seconds right before she touched the lyrium for her Harrowing, flew across the expanse of her mind like a comet. How desperately sad he made her aside, Celene realized she had nothing to worry about, nothing she could honestly lay claim to. Of course there would always be the threat of death if there were too many rumours and too many believed them, but she'd passed her Harrowing. She was, relatively, safe.

"They're not going to kill you Jowan," she said determinedly, because if words could bring bad things into being, surely they could bring good.

"They might not, but the Rite of Tranquility is just as bad, maybe worse. You've seen Tranquil around the tower, like Owaine who runs the stock room. He's so cold. No, not even cold. There's just... nothing in him. It's like he's dead, but still walking. His voice, his eyes are lifeless..."

Celene knew from experience there was a guiltly red flush creeping up her neck. When she'd been younger she'd once said something about Owaine not being a person, and even though Tranquil didn't exactly have feelings, Celene wasn't entirely sure they felt nothing, because Owaine had seemed almost hurt. She'd apologized to him, but felt horrible ever since. She supposed that was what happened when you were cooped up in a tower with people, you never quite got past your mistakes.

"I think you're reading too much into it," she said, smiling too brightly as she tried to defend the Tranquil mage retroactively.

Jowan shook his head slightly, but gathered himself from his frettings. "I shouldn't waste your time on this. I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up." 

Hearing the First Enchanter's untitled name gave Celene a little jolt, but she said goodbye to Jowan calmly and tried to look as though she was supposed to be heading towards the kitchens, even though most everyone knew most everyone else's business within the tower. She passed by two girls who had never liked her very much on the way, and overheard them gossiping about how Cullen had said her Harrowing was the quickest and cleanest he'd ever seen, and that she was very talented, and very brave. She tried not to smile as she hugged the knowledge to her chest.

***

Celene sat in the dark, unwilling to go back to sleep after the dreams that had pounced on her. She'd always been a light sleeper, and the Fade had always pulled at her strongly, giving her vivid and strange dreams, but the ones she'd been assaulted with tonight were unbearable. She couldn't remember what they were about now that sleep had fully deserted her, but the tears wouldn't stop flowing down her cheeks. Makerdamn Jowan, and his surprisingly not imaginary girlfriend Lily. She could already tell that her decision had been made, but she didn't have to like it. Helping Jowan would put her in a lot of trouble, especially if the rumours were true. Jowan had said they were probably born of him sneaking around with Lily, but so soon after Mouse had lied, Celene had felt the ring of untruth. Still, if someone could get out, be free... And it helped their case that Celene harboured her own inappropriate crush.

She knew every crack and line on her Templar's hands, even though they often wore gloves; she knew where his lips began, even through his helmet; and his eyes were so beautifully true it sometimes made her want to cry. She'd write poems of him if she could just think how to start. Or finish. Or anything in the middle that wouldn't get them into trouble. Her soul felt starved for him, but it wasn't something that could ever be fed. 

Some days she didn't understand how people could live like this. Other days, things felt fine, and she helped with the very young children, because she liked them and was good with them, and attended to her studies and chores. But then there were days like today, where she felt trapped, and like a sparrow that had once found it's way inside and then just wound up beating it's head against the glass, trying to get out.

Maybe someday they'd transfer him away, and he'd forget about her, and marry a nice normal girl, and any children they had wouldn't have the Circle or prejudices hanging over them like a noose ready to tighten at a moment's notice. He could be happy, and she could have an empty routine, and maybe not think of him so much, and at night she'd dream. She'd will dreams of him into being, and in her weaker moments imagine that he dreamed of her too.

She wiped the tracks of tears down her cheeks roughly away and pushed herself off her new bed in her new quarters, though the rough treatment didn't stop new tears from forming. She needed to be positive, in addition to kind, patient, and tolerant. A walk would clear her head, she decided, padding softly out of the room, the floor cold enough beneath her feet that even when she hit a rug her bones still ached. Celene didn't bother throwing any more clothes on than her night gown, glowing white in the semidarkness and brushing against her ankles, even though the cold was painful deep in her sun starved bones; she liked the reminder that she was still alive, and while there were plenty of Templars who might mutter about teaching a mage girl a thing or two, most were too scared to try it.

When her feet led her to the Templars' guarded door without her permission, Celene admitted she had a problem. Perhaps helping Jowan and Lily escape would get her sent to the mage's prison, and she could be out in the open while they took her there, and then waste obsoletely away. It would be more than spending a long life within the circle, spreading false hope and wasting away on the inside instead of out. And she didn't appear to be strong enough to stay away.

Maybe it wouldn't matter after tomorrow, she bargained with herself on her way back. And maybe, if it didn't matter anymore tomorrow, there might be a moment, just one, outside of these ties that bound her, and threatened to break her. Maybe there could be one stolen moment of his arms around her, and the Maker wouldn't resent her enough to take it away. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe.

***

Celene's heart constricted painfully in her chest and she kept her eyes firmly focused on the doorway at the end of the hall, Cullen's pendant almost burning her skin beneath her robes. The Grey Warden at her side felt like a comforting buffer between her fragile skin and the stares that lanced into it, but no one person could be fully effective against a world of others. She'd been saved, miraculously, and wasn't sure she wanted or deserved it. She'd argued, privately, and she felt convincingly, that Lily deserved saving more than her, but had been overruled. There were mages who spent nights with other mages, and when they snuck or stumbled back to their own quarters, it was referred to as a walk of shame. This felt almost like what that sounded like, but it wasn't, and Celene darted a nervous look to her sides as she took in the hostile stares and whispers, trying to find the appropriate term for what it did feel like. All she could think of was an apostate being led to the town square by an angry mob to be stoned to death.

She'd suspected Jowan had been lying about his innocence, but to have it confirmed, and to have her collusion paraded in front of so many judgmental eyes was far worse than she'd expected. She didn't see the one face she wanted to, though he wasn't one to peek out of doors, or line the halls after she'd passed. Celene began to shiver, and had to lock her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. He would show up. Even if he thought she was a blood mage, or heard she helped one, he had to show up. She'd loved him for far too long.

If she could ask for anything, though Maker knew she wouldn't have the temerity after all of her offences, and through the heavy fog she could rarely lift herself from, she'd ask to wake up next to him. She'd ask for the chance to tell him that she knew his smile like she'd spent everyday of her life looking at it, though he rarely smiled, especially around her. Around her he just longed and bled, and his eyes flickered perfectly, trying not to stare at her too long. Some small part of her felt like she was asking too much of one person, but most of her felt like he would've made her happier, and on the days where no one could save her, he would've sat with her, and weathered her storms, even though they were often hurricanes.

She saw him, finally, when they entered the room with the Door, and the world fell into place. It took all of her willpower not to step towards him, but she could do it because she had to, for him. It wouldn't do to ruin his life here just as she was leaving. Celene tried to square her shoulders, but only ended up suppressing a whimper, the pain in her chest spiking. She looked back once and regretted it instantly, her steps faltering as everything she'd held onto for so long stood behind her, gazing at her as if she meant something. Celene pretended the tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes were from the light, so harsh and unusual, not the feeling of having a small ogre ripping through her insides as she walked further and further away, until finally, the door clanged shut behind them.

***

I don't know how to save you, Celene thought, staring at the man who still meant so much to her. Anymore than he could've saved her when she was drowning so many months ago. The freedom had helped her, and so did the urgency, and now her head stayed above the waters most days, but she didn't know if freedom and impending doom that it was his duty to stop were what he needed. She didn't know that even if she knew what it was that he needed, he would've wanted help, especially from her, a mage, something he'd come to hate. Some of the harsher voices within her whispered that it was all because of mages that Cullen had been brought low, and tortured, but the softer ones, the ones who'd only recently been given room to grow, reminded her that she wasn't culpable for the actions of all mages any more than Cullen was for all templars.

She was different now, but he was too, and Celene wondered if he wouldn't drown her in his own storms given half the chance. His eyes, always magnetic, no longer drew her to a better place, but one far darker, and long away that she didn't know how to bring him back from. He stood in a corner, his arms crossed over his chest, fingers jangling nervously while his eyes suspiciously swept the room. She knew he saw her, watching him, from the way he purposefully glossed over her. It was so strongly reminiscent of the way he used to try not to stare at her, but that was because he was afraid to look too long, not because he didn't want to look at all. 

Maybe it was better, she thought. He wasn't looking at her like she'd betrayed him by disagreeing and saving the mages, by not being here and letting this happen. He wasn't looking at her like he hated her for who she was. What she was. His lip shook slightly, like it did on the rare occasions she'd seen him angry, and her heart fled, cowardly thing that it was. She took a small involuntary step back, some of her weakness overcoming her better desire to do something. His eyes lasered onto her at the movement, and she wondered if he could see the outline of the necklace he'd given her beneath her robes, now more worn and patched. She wore it often enough that it felt strange to go without it now, and the one day she'd done so had left her constantly pulling at empty air.

Celene's head jerked to side at the sound of an indrawn breath, and she saw Cullen jump at the sudden movement from the corner of her eye. Wynne stood to her left, smiling knowingly and a little sadly. Her eyes moved to Cullen and Celene blushed, following the line, even though nothing in Cullen's expression would lead Wynne to believe anything inappropriate had ever happened. His face reddened, though he looked angry, and not like he was about to burst into his stutter. He stalked off, and Celene wondered if it was just coincidence that kept his back angled to a wall at all times.

"The others are getting impatient," Wynne said, pointing out something Celene was already well aware of. Morrigan had been in a horrible mood when Celene had stalled for a few days, but everyone had just assumed she wanted to stay because her home was in such a horrible disarray. Celene wasn't in a hurry to correct them, and hoped Wynne hadn't made the connection in the scant few seconds she'd been standing there. No one wants to be that transparent.

She only smiled in answer, unaware of a not redundant response.

"Don't wait too long," Wynne said ambiguously, causing heat to flame into Celene's cheeks.

She muttered a hasty goodbye and retreated from the other woman's sharp-eyed gaze, heading towards the Templar's quarters. It didn't do to keep beating around the bush like this, she said, trying to psych herself up. She was supposed to be a Grey Warden, she'd been in battles, how could she still be the same shrinking violet she'd always been within these walls?

She paused in front of Cullen's dorm, hand frozen in the instant before knocking. She'd been here before, frozen in the instant before getting her nerve up, paralyzed at the possibility of losing something that she had needed. She wasn't relying on him to save her anymore, and didn't understand why that didn't make this easier, but screwed up her courage and knocked, her knuckles whispering across the wood. In the waiting, a million things hurtled through her head and she regretted knocking, when she should've just walked in, and she regretted coming here in the first place, and ever leaving, but the door opened, and Cullen stood in the doorway, everything about him ferric and harsh.

He moved out of the way after a long moment, not softening in the slightest, and she followed him into the room, which abandoned the smell of the rest of the tower, taking on the scent of leather, and weapon polish, and vaguely unwashed males. He sat on a lower bunk at the far end of the room, one away from the wall opposite the door, his elbows on his knees and head hanging down. It was almost shocking to see him in street clothes and light armour, the thick fabric of his shirt still somehow making her think of rippling back muscles.

"What do you want?" he asked roughly.

You. Celene opened her mouth, trying to find the right words... 

They all deserted her. 

To know that you're okay. 

But of course he wasn't.

"Go away, Mage," he said tiredly, and there was so little animosity in his voice that for a moment she had hope. Then he looked up and all the animosity that was missing from his voice was present in his face.

She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Go away!" he yelled and she flinched.

The silence resumed, angrier than before.

"I'm more than that," Celene said, surprised by how firmly she believed the words. Her voice was soft, but it seemed to reach him.

He looked at her, turning his head halfway to where she was. "You don't look like you did before."

Celene's wrist turned, allowing her to examine her tanner skin. Her shorn hair brushed against her earlobes. She wasn't sure he meant either of those things. Her feet hesitantly moved closer and her fingers ghosted across his cheek, though he jerked away. 

She smiled, and it was as sad as it had always been when he knew her. "Neither do you." 

"You've broken my head," Cullen said angrily. She sat by his feet and slowly, so slowly, rested her head against his thigh. When he didn't immediately push her off, she exhaled and felt some of the tension drain from her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking up at him, and meaning for everything. For the world. "Cullen, I--" she started, abruptly cutting herself off and looking down in embarrassment.

He sucked in a lungful of air and she felt his hand hovering over her head. His fingers when they touched down were feather light, gentle as they ran through her hair and he exhaled.

"I've missed you," she said, nearly inaudible and speaking mostly into his leg. "I--" She looked up again and the vicious anger in his face scared her, though she stopped herself short of recoiling.

"You don't mean anything," he spat out harshly and she flinched. "You're pathetic," Cullen said, hurling the words at her like they could slice into her skin, and Celene wasn't certain that they couldn't.

She got up and he followed, suddenly large and imposing. He was over a head taller than her, and he looked so strong.

"Leave," he said forcefully, backing her up.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, so quietly it was possible not to have heard her, but there was determination in her eyes when she stared back up at him.

He moved far more predatorily than she would've ever thought him capable, though out of the two of them only one of them deserved the adjective vulpine, until her back hit a wall.

"Get. Out."

Celene didn't respond, eyes flickering between his eyes and mouth. She would've kissed him. Even with his height he was close enough. But she didn't want to hurt him further after his torture at the hands of the demons. It was too selfish, even for her.

One of his hands closed the small distance between them, flattening the area of her robes that hung loosely over her stomach and finding the irregular oval of his necklace. She realized she wasn't breathing only when her eyes flicked up from his and she heard his ragged breaths contrasting with her silence and growing light headedness.

"Are you real?" he asked, voice sounding like he'd been shouting at the top of his lungs for several hours.

Her shallow breathing hitched, but she swallowed, and watched his hands reach for her sides, roughly pulling at the often stitched sides of her robes. His hands on her hips, bonier than she would've liked after the harsh way she'd been living, sent tingles racing down her spine. Her fingers wrapped around as much of his wrists as she could manage and he stopped, studying her for a brief moment before pushing against her, a ball of heat uncoiling in the pit of her stomach as his mouth worked against hers. He drew away, only to trail kisses down her neck, his hands moving to support her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He thrust against her, the layers of clothing in the way seeming impossibly cumbersome, and she tugged at the fabric of his shirt, the ends hidden within his pants and crushed between them. Her skirt bunched around her waist, and he shoved her harder into the wall, his hands leaving her to push it up further and fumble at the laces of his pants. She leaned back into the wall and felt an as yet unhealed wound begin to weep along her ribs.

She caught her breath and then his pants were lowered as minimally as possible, and even through the want Celene felt oddly cheapened when he pushed into her, stopping when her undergarments, forgotten only by him, prevented entry. He growled in frustration and she pressed her palms flat against his chest, stopping while there was still a point of return.

He bit her neck, and she wondered how he was so good at this when he was a templar. She remembered Jowan's first inexpert fumblings from so long ago, and how quickly it was all over.

"I'm, uh--" She shook her head, trying to clear it. "I'm not sure this is a good idea. I don't want to..." She paused, trying to decide if telling him she was worried about hurting him would wound his male pride. "Take advantage," she finished lamely, still disorientated by his presence and the response he was easily eliciting.

He ground his hips into hers and she could feel how precariously protected she was, how easy it would be for things to shift just slightly and then he'd be inside her, and it would be harsh, and brief, and physically wonderful, but he wouldn't feel better, and she'd feel worse.

"And here I thought I was the one 'taking advantage,'" he rumbled, not releasing her and sending vibrations into the space between her ribs with his voice so low and close.

His roaming hands brushed too urgently over the gash, and they stopped as she gritted her teeth, refusing to let a choked sound escape, before returning to the slightly damp slightly crusty patch of her robes, much more delicately than before.

"What happened?" he asked, voice as close to normal as it'd been since she'd seen him. He let go, and she slid down the space between the wall and him.

She shrugged with one slender shoulder and smiled nonchalantly. "I'm a hero now, remember? Help the weak, defend the poor, rescue the damsels. There are bound to be injuries along the way."

"I can help," he said, suddenly blushing lightly. He pulled his pants back up but didn't fasten them before walking away so abruptly Celene was left almost leaning after him. He riffled through the footlocker at the end of the bed he'd been sitting on earlier, standing up with a small kit of mundane medical supplies in hand.

She hesitated, unsure of the effectiveness of traditional healing methods. She'd always assumed she wouldn't need to know how to heal herself and so had never bothered learning, even now relying on Wynne's help, but watching him thread a needle, to stitch her up with-- like she was a garment-- made her slightly more apprehensive than if she was trying to figure out a healing blind.

He looked up at her and scowled. "Can't do it without magic?"

"No," she said childishly, her competitive streak making a rare showing. She swallowed too loudly and undid the clasp on her belt, walking forward and drawing confidence from that fact that he was the one retreating now. She draped it over the lid of his chest and wound her arms behind her back to pick at the laces of her robe. The more familiar Cullen surfaced when she darted a quick and embarrassed peek at him, and he didn't seem to be smirking at her slow and clumsy progress. The pain in her lower back dissipated and Celene realized he made her feel better, even when he didn't mean to, and wasn't really doing anything. She wasn't sure he felt the same way. The stays finally relinquished their hold and she pulled her layers off, oblivious to the way his eyes had resumed dancing around her, trying not to look, but being invariably pulled back in.

Even though it was Cullen, she wasn't really used to being mostly naked in front of men, strange or otherwise, so she sat on the bed, pulling his covers over her bare legs while he folded himself into the bunk-space next to her, one leg underneath him. She leaned back, painfully aware of the way inhaling made her stomach stick unattractively out from between the slanted lines of her ribs. He wiped the wound and the area around it down with alcohol before offering her the bottle, which she shook her head no to, hair swirling around her face, and he began to stitch, the black thread standing sharply out against her skin. His long and calloused fingers moved deftly, and the flashing of the needle, in and out, was oddly pacifying. When he finished the memory of it began to blur almost immediately, and Celene wasn't entirely sure she hadn't fallen asleep at some point during. She yawned and felt the stitches stretch, but stopped mid-yawn, one hand over her mouth, when she saw the way he was looking at her.

He ducked his head and pulled bandages out of the kit, motioning for her to sit forward and lift her arms so he could wind them around her torso. She blinked drowsily as he tucked the end of the linen strip into the beginnings and sat back.

Her hand lay invitingly on the end of her thigh, palm up and he gave the smallest of resigned sighs before lacing his fingers through hers. She laid down, tugging him after her until his chin rested on her shoulder and he was curled into a verisimilitude of the shape she was. The last bit of tension she'd been carrying fled, and his arms curled around her.

"If you want to talk--" she said stilly, afraid to break the fragile silence.

"No," he said flatly.

"I'll be here," she promised, even though she wouldn't always. She'd have to leave very soon, and wasn't sure where she'd be taken.

Celene shoved that line of thinking down, refusing to acknowledge it and turning within the circle of his arms so they were face to face, her arms nestled between them, their breathing oddly synchronized. They fell asleep that way, and for a moment, things felt better. She never told him, but felt that he knew that his life was her life's best part, and in the moments before she was swallowed in defeating the blight, she thought of him.


End file.
